


I'll See You Soon

by tiniestawoo



Series: teen wolf tumblr drabbles and ficlets [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Banshee Lydia Martin, F/M, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Hunters, Kidnapping, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Phone Calls, long distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26114914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestawoo/pseuds/tiniestawoo
Summary: It becomes second nature to call Scott in a crisis. Even after she leaves Beacon Hills, Lydia keeps calling him.
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Scott McCall
Series: teen wolf tumblr drabbles and ficlets [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896046
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	I'll See You Soon

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted [here.](https://tiniestawoo.tumblr.com/post/626108120550227968/ill-see-you-soon-it-becomes-second-naturee)
> 
> also this is *such* an example of 'this is an emotion not a plot' sorry.

It becomes second nature after a while, that when something starts to go wrong, she calls Scott. It’s just, been that way for as long as she can remember. It was Stiles, and then Stiles was gone and it was her and Scott and Malia holding the line against hunters that wanted them all dead.  
  
So, even when she’s on the other end of the country, when something goes wrong, she calls Scott.  
  
The first time she forgets the time difference and Scott still answers, it occurs to her how absurd their relationship has become. Scott is three thousand miles away at college and its 5am in California, but Lydia is calling Scott because she has a flat tire and she needed to yell about it. He answers, laughs with her, reminds her that triple A could get to her a lot faster and then tells her to have a good day.  
  
They always end the calls with “I’ll see you soon.” It's a wish and a promise because for a while there, it wasn’t always a guarantee.  
  
Despite the start, it’s a really phenomenal day.

Lydia gets cornered in a bar one night. She has to knee him in the balls and then leaves. She's not hurt -- she’s fought and won against far scarier creatures than drunk college guys -- but she’s shaken and so naturally, she calls Scott. She can hear noise in the background and realizes he’s probably out himself, but he still answered. He listens to her and tells her how glad he is that she’s okay, and that the guy was a jackass.   
  
He tells her it’s a good thing he wasn’t around or he’d have had worse than a knee to the balls. Lydia laughs, but she believes it. She’s seen what Scott would do to people who hurt his pack. Who hurt the people he loves.  
  
Does he love her?  
  
Does she love him?  
  
It’s hard to tell. All they’ve done for years is run. They spent their formative years running and fighting and now they’re on opposite ends of the country and it’s still Lydia’s first instinct to call him. And Scott always answers.   
  
Jackson loved her, in his own way. He never quite found the words to say it, but he did. Aiden had been temporary. A distraction, a stop gap. Stiles loved her and then he...didn’t anymore. There one day, gone the next. Fun while it lasted but never meant to _last_.   
  
Allison. God she’s never loved someone as much as she loved Allison. Malia and Kira were amazing, wonderful people, but by the time they came into Lydia’s life, she’d loved and lost too much for it to ever be the same.   
  
Scott lost her too, she remembers. Scott knows what it’s like to love and lose as well. 

Lydia whispers it, quietly, as she hangs up the phone. It’s pointless to whisper to a werewolf, they’re going to hear it either way. She does it anyway. A quiet, “Love you, I’ll see you soon.” 

Her cheeks hurt from smiling when she hears him reply, “Love you too, I’ll see you soon.”

It’s when Scott _doesn’t_ answer that she knows something is very wrong. Scott always answers. Night or day, despite the time difference. It doesn’t matter if Lydia is calling because she definitely just bombed her modern physics exam (which she didn’t , and he reminds her she’s the smartest person he knows), or if it’s to complain about the chip in the manicure she just got done (he laughs and tells her its a good thing she’s not a werewolf), _Scott always answers_.  
  
She’s in a cab to the airport, phone calls into Stiles and Derek and Malia before she can even think. She’s on the next plane to Sacramento with fear racing through her veins.   
  
She _will not scream for Scott McCall_.   
  
The hunters clearly underestimated Scott’s pack. They underestimated the brilliant human strategist, the full-shifting born werewolf, the fearless, deadly coyote. They definitely underestimated the banshee.   
  
One of them is holding a gun to Scott’s head. Anger bubbles upon Lydia’s chest, its heavy and its intense and she screams before she knows what she’s doing. She’s faster than a bullet.   
  
Everything after that is a haze of blood red flashing guns, but in the end they’re all okay. Derek took one to the arm but the bullet’s already out and he’s healing. Lydia’s sitting on the floor staring at what’s left of the body of the man who’d been holding a gun to Scott’s head. She wraps her arms around her knees and rocks gently.

She looks up when a pair of boots comes into her view, and Scott is staring down at her with those warm, loving brown eyes and he holds out a hand to her. Lydia takes it, lets him pull her up, buries her face into his chest and whispers apology after apology because she _knows_ they try not to kill but she just....  
  
“I can’t lose you,” she cries, her hands shaking where they’re gripped in Scott’s dirty tank. “I won't scream for you.”   


“Hey, hey, shh.” Scott tilts her head up and rubs their cheeks together. His stubble scrapes against her cheek. It’s a wolf thing, the most wolf thing she’s ever seen Scott do, but it quiets a part of her that was prepared for rejection. “You saved my life, Lydia. It’s okay. I don’t even know how you knew to look for me.”   
  
She looks up at him, knows she must look a mess after having not slept in nearly twenty four hours. “You didn’t answer,” She whispers, leaning her forehead against his chin, letting him take the bulk of the weight in her still shaking body. “You always answer.”  


She can feel Scott’s face shift into a smile and his hands, latched at her lower back, move apart so he can run his thumbs gently along the knobs of her spine. “What was wrong?” He asked.   
  
His smile is painfully fond when Lydia looks up. Malia and Derek and Stiles are moving around them, working on body disposal and somewhere, Lydia knows, Chris Argent and Peter Hale are on standby to help with the clean up and cover up.  
  
Lydia frowns. What had been wrong? Why had she called Scott yesterday? “I...I just missed you,” She answers. “I just...needed to hear your voice.”   
  
Scott doesn’t say anything. Later, Lydia will blame the exhaustion and trauma of the moment and the scent of blood and gunpowder for how long it takes her to put it together. When it all finally clicks that it wasn’t just an obscure need to hear Scott’s voice she drops her head to his shoulder and lets out a dry laugh. “Oh.”

“You saved my life.” Scott repeats, resting his cheek against the top of her hair. “Thank you.”   
  
“I love you.” Lydia whispers, keeping her head on Scott’s shoulder. She loves him. She loves him so much that from across the country she knew something was wrong and rallied the pack to save him. She’s loved him so deeply for so long she’s forgotten what it’s like to _not_ love Scott Mccall.   
  
“I love you too.” He replies, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I missed you.”   
  
Stiles yells for them to quit being sappy, he’s got an exam he needs to be back in DC for and _he_ certainly didn’t just cause most of the blood splatter.   
  
Lydia smiles and shakes her head but finally breaks away from Scott so he can help Derek and Malia move the bodies out of the room and goes to stand by Stiles.  
  
Later, when they’re deciding where to go after they’re done cleaning up, most of them choose to go to a hotel room, but Lydia can’t bring herself to be separated from Scott just yet. When they get to his apartment, both of them blood splattered, dead tired and starving, Scott offers her the shower but she shakes her head.  
  
She doesn’t let go of his hand, pulling him with her. Scott’s eyes go momentarily wide but then she starts the shower and steps out of her clothes, watching the way Scott’s eyes roam over her. It’s gratifying in a way that eyes on her haven’t been in a long time. She throws a grin over her shoulder and steps under the spray.   
  
He joins her a moment later, warm hands on her upper arms, another one of those featherlight kisses pressed against her now wet hair. She reaches for his loofa and hands it to him. He goes to work washing away the evidence of what they’ve been through from her skin. It feels different that it’s Scott doing it. It feels like absolution.  
  
When he’s done she takes it from him, adds more soap and swaps places with him, watching his face as she runs the loofa over his skin, washing away dirt and grime and sweat and blood. His eyes flicker red occasionally. His arms are resting on her shoulders, stretched out, hands clasped somewhere behind her head.   
  
There’s nothing sexual about it for Lydia, for once. There could be, that much is obvious, but for now it’s about comfort and closeness and the warmth of the water and the way Scott so freely bares his neck for her to clean. It’s the way he runs his hands down her body, like he could break her.  
  
He could. He could break her so many ways without leaving a single mark on her skin.  
  
She trusts him anyway. She trusts him as he shuts the water off and wraps her in a towel, rubbing his hair down with one before wrapping it around his hips. Lydia brushes out her hair, braids it quickly, Scott leaning against the bathroom door like there’s a gravitational pull keeping him from getting too far from her.  
  
She accepts a T-shirt from him, pulling it on along with a pair of his boxers, climbing into bed, laying on her back, watching him pull on a pair of cut off sweatpants. He climbs in next to her, laying on his side beside her, one of his hands cupped under her chin, thumb brushing against her cheek. “Can I--”  
  
“Yes.” Lydia breathes. She doesn’t know what he was going to say. It doesn’t really matter. She wouldn’t have denied him anyway.  
  
The kiss feels like coming home. 


End file.
